We finished the box and Lincoln showed us an article he had written on Nazi sculpture. We were reading it when Captain Posey came in. He asked if we had stopped in Salzburg to see Colonel Heller. I told him what had happened there. If he was annoyed, he gave no sign of it. He rummaged in his desk and brought out a list of instructions for us in connection with the operation at Berchtesgaden. He suggested that we stop there on the way back to Alt Aussee; it wouldn’t be very much out of our way. He gave us the names of the officers we should see about billeting, and so on. It would be well to have all these things settled in advance. Then he gave us some special orders for Lieutenant Shrady, who was to be transferred to Heidelberg, now that the evacuation of the mine was ending.
Captain Posey said that I was to take over the Mercedes-Benz. It had been obtained originally for the evacuation team. We were to take it with us to Berchtesgaden. I could make good use of the car, transportation facilities being what they were, but I didn’t relish the prospect of taking it from Shrady. He had spent money of his own fixing it up and looked on it as his personal property. I told Captain Posey how I felt. He said he had a letter for me which would take care of the matter. It was a letter directing me to deliver Lieutenant Shrady’s orders and to appropriate the car.
When we saw Faison at the depot the next morning, he asked if he might drive back with us. He was joining Plaut and Rousseau at House 71 to work with them on the investigation of Nazi art looting. I said we’d be glad to have him. The three of us started off after early lunch. We were looking forward to the Berchtesgaden detour. None of us had been there during the Nazi regime and I, for one, was curious to see what changes had taken place in the picturesque resort town since I had last seen it fifteen years before.
We took the Salzburg Autobahn past Chiemsee almost to Traunstein, and then turned off to the southwest. This was the finest secondary road I ever traveled. It led into the mountains and the scenery was worthy of Switzerland. Thanks to perfectly banked turns, we made the ninety-mile run in two hours.
The little town was as peaceful and quiet as I remembered it. In fact it was so quiet that Lamont and I had difficulty locating an Army outfit to give us directions. We learned that the 44th AAA Brigade had just moved in and that the last remnants of the famous 101st Airborne Division were pulling out. There was no love lost between the two, as we found out later. Consequently, when I asked an officer of the AAA Brigade where I would find Major Anderson of the 101st Airborne, he informed me curtly that that outfit was no longer at Berchtesgaden. Then I asked if he knew where the Göring collection was. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, so I rephrased my question, inquiring about the captured pictures which had been on exhibition a short time ago. Yes, he knew vaguely that there had been some kind of a show. He thought it had been over in Unterstein, not in Berchtesgaden. Well, where was Unterstein? He said it was about four kilometers to the south, on the road to the Königssee.
His directions weren’t too explicit, but eventually we found the little back road which landed us in Unterstein ten minutes later. In a clearing on the left side of the road stood the building we were looking for. It was a low rambling structure of whitewashed stucco in the familiar Bavarian farmhouse style. It had been a rest house for the Luftwaffe. The center section, three stories high, had a gabled roof with widely overhanging eaves. On either side were long wings two stories high, similarly roofed. The casement windows were shuttered throughout.
We found Major Harry Anderson on the entrance steps. He was a husky fellow with red hair and a shy, boyish manner. He was not altogether surprised to see us because George had stopped by on his last trip to Munich and told him we’d be arriving before long. How soon could we start to work on the collection? In four or five days’ time, we thought. Could he make some preliminary arrangements for us? We would need billets for three officers, that is, the two of us—and Lieutenant Kovalyak. No, there would be four, we had forgotten to include the Negro lieutenant in charge of the truck drivers. Then there would be twenty drivers. Could we say definitely what day we’d arrive? Lamont and I made some rapid calculations. It was a Tuesday. How about Friday evening? That was fine. The sooner the better as far as the major was concerned. He was slated to pull out the minute the job was done, so we couldn’t start too soon to suit him.
He asked if we’d care to take a preliminary look around but we declined. It was getting late and we still had a hard three-hour drive ahead of us. As we turned to go, Jim Plaut and Ted Rousseau came out of the building. They had been expecting Faison but were surprised to find him with us. Wouldn’t we all have dinner with them that night at House 71? They had come over from Bad Aussee that afternoon, bringing Hofer with them. They had been quizzing him about certain pictures in the collection and he had wanted to refresh his memory by having a look at them. They pointed to a stocky German dressed in gray tweeds who stood a little distance away talking with a tall, angular woman. We recognized him as the man we had seen pacing the garden at House 71 weeks before—the evening Lamont and I first reported to George at the mine. That was his wife, they said. Would we mind taking Hofer back with us? If we could manage that, they’d take Faison with them. There were some urgent matters they’d like to talk over with him in connection with their work. We agreed and Ted brought Hofer to the car.
As we left he called out, “Wiederschauen, liebe Mutti,” and kept waving and throwing kisses to his tall wife. I was struck by the stoical expression on her face. She watched us go but made no effort to return his salutations. I wondered if she gave a damn.
Hofer was a loquacious passenger. All the way to Bad Aussee he kept up a line of incessant chatter, half in English, half in German, on all sorts of subjects. He gesticulated constantly with both hands, notwithstanding the fact that one of them was heavily bandaged. He explained that he had scalded it. The bandage had been smeared with evil-smelling ointment which had soaked through. As he gestured the air was filled with a disagreeable odor of medication. Did we know Salzburg? Ah, such a lovely city, so musical! Did we know Stokowski? He knew him well. “Then you’ll probably be interested to know that he has just married one of the Vanderbilt heiresses, a girl of nineteen,” I said. But I must be joking. Was it really so?